Broken
by BlackFox12
Summary: Sequel to Reforging Connections. Slade and Oliver have their issues. They don't talk about what's between them, but there's something there. Contains spanking and graphic scenes of sex between two men. Don't like? Don't read


**Broken**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything from the television series Arrow and I'm not making any money from this fic

**Summary:** Sequel to Reforging Connections. Slade and Oliver have their issues. They don't talk about what's between them, but there's something there

**Warning(s):** Spanking; graphic sex scenes between two men; mentions of violence and torture; spoilers for the first two series of Arrow

**Pairing:** Slade Wilson/Oliver Queen - slash

**Author's Note:** Present tense is a style that, apart from infinite stories, I've only used once. So because I'm so unused to this style, it was quite hard to write and it would be interesting to see if readers think it works

* * *

They don't talk about what's between them. Not even when Oliver used his influence to get Slade released from the prison and they were flown back to Starling City. Slade doesn't know if talking about it... trying to define it... will be what fractures the delicate balance that's formed between them.

They don't even talk about the reaction Oliver's new friends had to Oliver showing up with Slade. Both Felicity and Diggle have made it quite clear they don't trust Slade and even though Slade isn't sure he trusts himself, he knows Oliver won't let himself believe otherwise. He never did have the sense he should have done.

They're not together every night. Not even half the nights of the week. But every so often, one or the other of them will make a move and the other will respond. And a night of hot, almost violent sex will ensue.

Because Slade wonders if violence is the only way they can relate to each other. Most days, he wonders if that's all he has left. That's why he hasn't made any attempt to see his son. He's not sure he can ever expose what he now is to Joe. Maybe it's better for his son to continue believing he's dead.

Maybe that part of him _is_ dead.

Slade sits on the couch in his apartment, a glass of Scotch in hand. He's not used to this quiet... this downtime. On the island, there was always survival to worry about. First his own, then Oliver's and Shado's. Even knowing that Billy's still out there isn't enough. He doesn't have a television or a stereo, because the silence is better.

That way, he can hear if anyone comes.

While he's alone, Slade keeps his eye patch off. He has never been very vain. Hiding his disfigurement has always been for someone else's sake... not his own.

The sound of the doorbell chiming draws Slade out of his thoughts... or brooding, as he's sure some people would call it. He's sure he knows who's out there and takes a few moments to wonder if he wants to see Oliver right now. But even though what's between them is dark and angry at times, it's the only emotional connection Slade has right now. Even if he's not sure he likes it, he can't escape that.

Slade picks up the eye patch and puts it back on over his ruined eye. After making sure it's fully adjusted, he sets his glass of Scotch down and walks out of the living room, down the hallway to the front door, which he opens.

Oliver is standing on the porch, a bottle of whiskey (more expensive than the one Slade has open, he can't help noticing) in one hand. "I thought I'd come by. See if you want some company."

Slade doesn't say anything, but he moves back from the door and Oliver steps inside, pushing the door closed behind him and handing the bottle to Slade. "Felicity hasn't had any success tracking Billy's whereabouts."

Slade isn't surprised. "You could have called me to tell me that."

"Yeah... I thought I'd come by and see you."

Slade puts the bottle down and turns to face Oliver. It's almost impossible to read the other man's expression, but this is an unspoken rule between them. He steps until he's in Oliver's personal space, his hand sliding up the other man's shoulder and behind his neck. Leaning forward, he presses his lips against Oliver's.

There is nothing gentle about this kiss. Neither one of them yields. Slade pushes Oliver against the wall, but Oliver nips at his lower lip and then scrapes his teeth along Slade's jawline.

Slade slides his hand under Oliver's shirt, scratching lightly at his skin, though he's careful not to irritate the scar tissue. He tweaks a nipple between thumb and forefinger and Oliver hisses into his neck.

It's tempting to tear off Oliver's clothes. They've done that to each other repeatedly and Slade has lost count of the amount of shirts and pants he's had to replace... a luxury he couldn't afford when he was on the island. This time, he steps back, noticing the flushed look to Oliver's cheeks.

Oliver follows the movement, as if assuming Slade is backing away from him. He pauses, apparently reading the look on Slade's face, and his hands go to his jacket. He takes it off and lets it fall to the floor, then unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it, leaving his entire torso bare.

Slade knows Oliver's scarred. He's seen the evidence of what his former partner did many times over and the sight doesn't shock him. Still, there's something almost powerful about staying fully clothed when Oliver is half-naked and he steps over, running his fingers over the man's chest and working his way down to his pants. He doesn't remove them, but gropes Oliver through the denim, creating friction and eliciting a sharp intake of breath.

Oliver steps forward, into Slade's hand, and returns the favour. Slade can feel himself growing harder and it's an uncomfortable sensation to be straining against his pants. He catches Oliver's hands, pushing them against the wall either side, and presses himself against the full length of Oliver's body, seeing the flash of pleasure-pain as he teases and tortures.

Not making any attempt to free his hands, Oliver shifts forward and nips at Slade's neck. The sharpness goes straight to his groin and Slade releases one of Oliver's hands. He uses it to hook Slade around the neck, pulling him close and into a hard, almost savage kiss.

Slade lets his fingers travel down over Oliver's hips, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pulling them down. Oliver kicks off his shoes and then slips out of his pants and boxers, then lets his own hands busy themselves with removing Slade's pants and pushing them down to free his erection.

After stepping out of his own lower clothes, Slade removes his shirt and then pins Oliver up against the wall, kissing and sucking on Oliver's neck, then licking the slightly sore spot.

Oliver raises his own hands and grasps Slade's upper arms, spinning them round so that Slade's now against the wall and Oliver is the one pinning him there.

* * *

They're both hot and sweaty by the time they're fully sated, covered in bite and scratch marks. They'd moved through to the living room and Slade has the bottle of whiskey Oliver brought. He pours some into two decanters and offers one to Oliver.

Oliver drinks and then kisses Slade, who tastes the whiskey on his breath. "They're still worried about you."

Slade doesn't need to ask who 'they' are. "I think you're wrong _not_ to be worried about me."

"I know you're dangerous. But you aren't insane in the same way you were. I can trust you to watch my back." Oliver pauses as he drains the rest of his whiskey. "You haven't gone to see your son. Is it because you're concerned about bringing danger to him? Or about your former partner?"

"I'm concerned about the danger he faces from me," Slade answers. "It isn't the right time." And maybe it will never _be_ the right time.

Oliver is silent for several long moment before he speaks. "If my father was still alive... I'd want to know."

"It isn't the time." Slade speaks firmly, not wanting to waste time wishing for what he can never have. One hand wanders up to his eye patch, fingering the itch where his eye used to be.

"Why did you keep it on? I know what you look like without the eye patch."

Slade lowers his hand. "I don't want pity."

Oliver doesn't rise to the bait. "When I came back, I kept what happened to me a secret for as long as possible. I didn't want pity either." He steps closer to Slade, leaning in to give him another, softer kiss. "I don't pity you."

Slade tenses. Rough and violent, he can deal with... this gentleness only unsettles him and he pulls away. "I think you should leave."

"Okay." Oliver doesn't even try to argue as he heads out to the hall to gather his clothes. "Keep the Scotch," he fires back over his shoulder. "I'll keep you updated as we find out more."

Slade listens until he hears the door close and then pours himself out another whiskey. Somehow, though, it doesn't have the warm comfort it did before.

* * *

It's the middle of the night and the sound of Slade's phone ringing wakes him up from a light sleep. He still isn't relaxed enough to sleep deeply and so he's immediately awake and aware when he answers. "Slade here."

"Oliver's gone off the grid."

Slade frowns at the female voice. "Is this Felicity?" He's up and dressing himself even as he speaks.

"I got a lead on your ex-partner." Apparently, Felicity doesn't feel the need to confirm his guess. "Oliver went to check it out, but he hasn't called back and I've lost the signal from his tracker."

Dressed now, Slade slips out of his apartment without bothering to turn any lights on, gathering up his weapons on the way. "Where was his last known location?"

Felicity names an address in a set of abandoned rail tracks. After she's finished, the phone is taken and Diggle speaks into it. "I'm going with you."

"I work better alone." He does now, at least. "I'll make sure he calls as soon as he's safe." Deciding there's nothing more that needs to be said, he hangs up the phone and puts it away so that he can make sure he has his hands free.

* * *

As Slade sneaks through the abandoned rail tracks, he wonders if Billy has got the jump on Oliver and killed him. The thought causes him a lot of distress that he pushes away. He cared about Oliver on the island, but this... these emotions are far stronger than that. He knows letting those emotions show is a sign of weakness and he shoves them away so that his mind is clear for what he needs to do. There can be no mistakes this time. Billy has to die for real this time.

Before he can hurt Oliver more.

The tunnels echo with Billy's voice, calm and clear... and sounding nothing like the man Slade had once known. "There's nothing personal in this. You have information I need. Tell me... and I'll let you go."

Slade slows his steps right down so that the sound doesn't carry to Billy's ears. He can't hear Oliver, but that doesn't mean Billy doesn't have him. He creeps along, but just as he reaches the narrow passage the voice is coming from, he hears a sharp gasp and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Ducking through, Slade keeps to the wall. He can see the back of Billy, standing in front of an un-hooded Oliver who is tied to a chair. Even in the dim lighting, Slade can see a bruise showing up on Oliver's face. It seems that Billy is just warming up, though, as he has a blowtorch in his hand and is waving it threateningly at Oliver.

There could be others there. Slade _knows_ that. And yet the logic that dictates he stay and wait for others to show themselves is gone in the split second it takes for Billy to inch the blowtorch towards Oliver's cheek.

The bullet hits Billy in the back and he goes down. Slade holds his gun trained on the prone figure as he approaches, holding eye contact with Oliver. The desire to snatch the other man up and give him another good hiding is an intense one, but he resists the urge to do that as soon as he's freed Oliver.

"We'd better go." Oliver stands quickly, perhaps seeing something of Slade's intention on his face. "There are others. They got the drop on me... one came up behind when I had my arrow trained on him. Knocked me out."

Slade doesn't speak, but puts another couple of bullets in the back of Billy's head... just to be on the safe side. "Can you get your gear?" he asks finally.

"Yeah..." Oliver steps over to the far corner. "I'd better check in with Diggle and Felicity..." He bends to pick up his equipment.

"You can do that from my apartment." Slade motions for Oliver to precede him. Only the knowledge of how much danger they're both in is what keeps him from delivering a good swat to Oliver's backside as they leave.

* * *

The phone conversation goes on for a long time, with Oliver reassuring his team members that he's fine and is going to be staying with Slade for the rest of the night. Agreeing to check in with them the next day, Oliver hangs up and then turns to Slade, who's sitting on the couch. "I know you don't think I should have gone after him on my own."

"You asked for my help," Slade points out. "If you were going to follow a lead on your own, why did you bother breaking me out of prison?"

"I hoped you didn't hate me anymore."

Slade sighs. "I don't hate you."

Oliver shrugs and Slade can't tell if he believes him or not. Maybe it doesn't matter. They have a lot of history between them and there are going to be wounds from the past. But the one thing that has become true once more is Slade's reluctance to let anything happen to Oliver, even if he is now capable of defending himself.

Because he doesn't need to work alone. He has a whole team around him.

Oliver must see it on Slade's face, because he moves over to his side. He doesn't make a sound when Slade grasps his wrist. He doesn't flinch when Slade lowers him down across his lap and tugs his pants and boxers down to below his knees, or struggle when Slade shifts him into a better position.

The first smack is harder than any Slade has given him before and a handprint immediately blooms on Oliver's backside. Slade resists the urge to trace the pink mark, because this is about punishment and not sex. He lands a second smack, harder this time, and feels Oliver jerk under his hand.

The smacks echo crisply through the apartment and even though Oliver is able to hold still most of the time, he shifts when Slade targets the more sensitive spots, like his sit spots and thighs. Slade keeps going until Oliver's entire backside is a uniform red, from the crest of his backside down to his thighs, and Oliver is gripping his trouser leg tightly.

Slade pauses, but doesn't let Oliver up. Reaching for the other man's quiver, he removes an arrow from it and reverses it so that he's holding the arrowhead in his hand, creating a makeshift cane. "Why did you go after him alone, Oliver?"

Oliver tenses over Slade's knees, because Slade has changed the rules on him. But his voice shows no strain from the effects of the spanking so far when he answers. "I didn't want anyone to come with me. I needed to think and I needed to fight someone on my own."

Slade lines the shaft of the arrow against the centre of Oliver's backside and brings it down hard enough to leave a white line that then darkens to a deeper red.

It must hurt, but a tightening on Slade's leg is the only concession Oliver makes to that. Slade presses on, lining the shaft just below the first strike. "Did you stop to think about what would happen if you got captured?"

"No. I didn't expect to _get_ captured."

"You got cocky." Slade lashes the shaft down twice more and Oliver grows tense across his lap, as if preparing to catapult himself off.

But he stays bent over.

"Did you stop to think about what it would do to your friends and teammates if something happened to you?"

A muttered, "No," is Oliver's response, with another hitched breath.

This is, to Slade's mind, more severe and earns Oliver three strikes with the shaft. A slight hitch of breath is the only sign that they've had any effect on him.

Slade runs a hand over Oliver's lower back, feeling the muscles bunched under his hand. "Six more." He waits to hear a protest, but Oliver only bows his head and tightens his grip on Slade's leg.

It's hard to deliver the promised six strikes, but Slade forces himself to, careful not to cross over the six he's already delivered. He puts the arrow to one side and places his hand on Oliver's back, rubbing until he can feel the other man relaxing over his lap. When Oliver finally pushes himself up, he looks deeply into Slade's eyes and then kisses him.

This time, Slade responds to the gentle pressure of Oliver's lips to his. He can taste salt, faintly, on his tongue.

Oliver pulls away, but his eyes remain on Slade's. "You came for me."

In answer, Slade leans forward to capture Oliver's lips with his own once more. He doesn't know how to describe this between them... he still doesn't... but just for now, he thinks there could come a time he's no longer broken.

**The End**


End file.
